


takes a moment to assess the situation

by akire_yta



Series: promptfics - bandom and rpf [132]
Category: Bandom, Disney RPF
Genre: Light BDSM, Multi, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-30
Updated: 2013-08-30
Packaged: 2017-12-25 03:48:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/948282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akire_yta/pseuds/akire_yta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>prompt: nic/dallon/spencer/brendon and p!atd: the ballad of mona lisa</p>
            </blockquote>





	takes a moment to assess the situation

She could feel their eyes on her, hot, yearning, possessive. She smiled at nothing as she dragged the brush with slow care over the curve of her nail, ignoring them entirely.

There was a rustle of cloth from the sofa, where Spencer was sitting, shifting in his seat like he thought no-one would notice. There was a faint clearing of a throat from the stool in the corner where Dallon was sitting with his hands folded oh-so-carefully in his lap.

Only Brendon was absolutely silent, silent and strangely still where he leaned against the doorframe. She glanced up in the mirror and saw him staring at her in reflection.

They all wanted her, it was written across their faces. But none of them were having her until they came to her together.

All or nothing. Nicole never settled for anything less.

She drags the brush over the next nail, turning it deep blood red, and waits.

~

Nicole is discreet, very expensive, and very very good at what she does.

They call her out when touring and interviews and everything gets to be too much. She has a monthly retainer and they all have her number on speed dial.

One text, and they come off stage to find her in the dressing room, doing something and totally ignoring them until they get to the hotel. Most people think she's a friend, or maybe a girlfriend coming to visit on the quiet - none of the guys on tour really give her much thought, she doesn't really get in the way (she's very good at being very discreet) and so they just let her backstage to wait for the show to finish.

Those shows are always among the boys best. It's the anticipation that pushes everything to eleven.

~

It's always Brendon who breaks first. She sees the motion in the reflection, the way he pushes off the door frame, his movements jerky and lacking their usual grace.

He's wound up tight, as tight as she's ever seen him, and she's seen him in every state imaginable.

Brendon walks past Dallon, hand brushing lightly over his knee as he heads to the sofa. He crawls up on his knees to lean, hand braced on Spencer's chest, head dipped to press against Spencer's cheek.

On the cusp of hearing, Nicole hears Brendon whisper "now?"

She smiled at her blood-red nails and seals the tiny jar of colour.

They were almost ready for her.

~

Spencer held out his hand to help her into the minibus that would take them to the hotel. She smiled at Zack, who grinned weakly and turned away.

She made him uncomfortable and they both knew why. Nicole took the back seat and carefully crossed her ankles, demure and sweet. He knew who she was, and what she did. She knew there was want in his eyes, buried so deep he might never face those desires.

She turned to the window, dismissing him. He wasn't paying her fee here.

Dallon took the seat next to her, careful to keep a thin space between them. The game required playing by the rules, and Dallon wasn't allowed to touch her physically. Nic dragged her red nail up her thigh, slow, just heavy enough to make her stocking snag and pull, watching in the dark glass as Dallon stared.

The ride to the hotel passed in silence. At the lobby, Nicole held out her hand, and Zack dropped the room key into her palm.

Nicole closed her fist over the key, one finger at a time, and headed for the elevator bank, knowing that Dallon, Spencer and Brendon would follow.

~ 

The door clicks shut, a loud snap signaling the beginning. Nicole walks five steps into the room, assessing the situation. Zack may not approve of her, but he too, in his way, does what he is told. The bed is big, and has a slatted headboard, four heavy posts in the corner.

When she turns, Spencer, Brendon and Dallon are on their knees, hands behind their backs.

"Good boys," she purrs, voice low and heavy, and watches them shiver under the praise.

This soon after a show, they were all still in time with each other, so much so that dealing with the three of them was in some ways like dealing with just one person.

By now, Nic was familiar enough with their rhythms, and what they needed her for, to be able to guide them to where they need to be.

Soon Dallon is sitting, bare chested and breathing hard, back ramrod straight and posture perfect. He knew if he slouched, moved, even twitched, and she would have him facing the other way, unable to watch, to see, to feel vicariously what he wasn't ready for himself.

His eyes are fixed on the bed, where Brendon is laid out, ankles and wrists pulled out by the dark straps tying him to the posts. His hips are canted over Spencer's lap, straining against the pull even as Spencer holds him down, hands splayed over Brendon's thighs, the small of his back.

They're waiting for her. Slowly, slowly, Nic undoes the tie of her jacket, slips it off her shoulders, undoes the demure wrap underneath to reveal the corset that was synonymous with her work. She watched them take in the details of the lacing, the pattern of the suspenders, the little kicks of material of her panties, before she sashayed around Dallon's back and around the bed, doing a figure eight on the floor, playing up the tension another knot. Her path brought her to the desk, where her bag was waiting.

She considered the contents for a moment before pulling out a thin tube. Inside was her favourite thin, whippy crop, topped with a little tongue of purple leather.

She turned on the spot and brought it down against her hand. The crack of leather on skin sealed their attention to the moment.

Nicole smiled, running the tip along the line of her jaw in a play of consideration as she slinked over to the bed.

Brendon needed her first. She would take care of him as only she could.

The first crack of the crop against his pale bare flesh was loud in the silence.

She makes three precise strokes in absolute silence, one for Brendon, one for Dallon, then one for Spencer.

She pauses, breaking the rhythm on the fourth stroke, and watches as they all visibly stutter in the break. "You've been a bad boy, haven't you Spencer," she says, holding the crop high, ready to strike yet never bringing it down, never breaking eye contact.

"Yes, mistress," Spencer murmurs, squirming a little under the intensity of her gaze.

"Tell me," she says, still calm and quiet.

Spencer's eyes are darting everywhere now, trying to find an out. Her shoulder is complaining, but she holds the crop high and steady. They all know that she won't give another stroke until he tells her. On his lap, Brendon starts to squirm a little, tiny twitches of his hip as he unconsciously pushes his ass up towards the crop.

"I...I yelled at my tech. It wasn't his fault, but I was tired and grumpy and he was in the way," Spencer whispered.

It's not all; Nicole had seen guilt writhing behind Spencer's bland expression the moment he had seen her in the dressing room. But it's a start. She brings the crop down hard, and Brendon's not the only one to hiss in relief.

Part of why she was here was to hear their confession and absolve them of all that weighed them down.

That's partly why they call her.


End file.
